The Forgotten
by Treenahasthaal
Summary: The Rebellion's little guys. The grunts, the frontline fighters. Who were they and where did they come from? This is the story of two of them.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** This is an older story of mine written waaaaaayyyyyy back in 1987. It appeared in the fanzine "Shadowstar 30." I had the idea for it after watching TESB and wondered about the Rebellion's "little guys."

**The Forgotten**

**Prologue**

The demonstration slowly wound its way through the city streets. Its participants were young, eager, and - so many would say - foolish to the point of insanity. These were not the times for such a show of discontent; these were not the times to find fault with the government. The older citizens watched with curious dismay as the procession moved on, the protesters shouting out demands to free political prisoners, to reinstate the senate, to end the military rule. Many of the insurrectionists carried crude hand-made banners telling of the horrors of Imperial interrogation, others carrying names of those who had been arrested and had subsequently disappeared. There were hundreds of protesters, perhaps thousands, each feeling safety in numbers. Alas for many, this belief proved to be a fallacy.

Silence gripped the crowd as the avenue ahead was cordoned off by line after line of white armoured soldiers. The procession stopped. Before those in the rear could voice their questions concerning the sudden halt to their progress, their ears were assaulted by the footsteps of running soldiers. When they turned, they, too, saw the street behind them blocked. There was a pause, a long instant, a delayed minute; then, the stormtroopers opened fire.

The crowd broke and ran. Banners were dropped to lie beside still bodies. Screams of terror and outrage saturated the air as panic invaded the masses. The protesters no longer cared about making their views known; they pushed and shoved at their neighbours as they tried to escape the massacre. But there was nowhere to which they could flee.

Abruptly, the shooting ceased. Surprise stopped many in their frantic attempts to escape, and again, a pregnant pause hung about them. The injured cried out in their pain; the frightened sobbed out their prayers. The dead lay silent, their presence shouting the loudest of all.

The stormtroopers holstered their weapons to draw out long, lethal batons. They then began to advance.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** My apologies for the brief prologue last time. I'm hoping people like what they read although this isn't about any of the main OT characters - although they have brief cameos in this story. If they story strikes a cord - please let me know... : )

**The Forgotten**

2

The ancient battle cruiser cut a lone path through the dead stellar system, a small collection of planets hovering around a huge red sun that had yet to find that unknown spark, that magical chemical balance or the attention of some creative deity that would bring the planets life. Few ships passed this way; few beings knew of the system's existence. Those who did know of this route either ignored it or avoided it. It attracted only those who yearned for the adventure of discovery, those who were in need of a secluded hideaway, or those who were in dire want of quick money, for this little-known system was only one section of the infamous Kessel run.

The ship now travelling this road did so slowly, lumbering through cold space at sub-light speed like some deformed behemoth, its archaic engines incapable of greater swiftness. It had been built in an era when beings could only dream of the vessels which now criss-crossed the galaxy in a matter of days rather than months. In these enlightened times, however, the old warship was viewed with vaguely bemused smiles - unless you were to be one of its passengers, in which case you would be treated to a history lesson you could never forget, or escape. The once-proud fighting machine had, over the years, degenerated into one of the Empire's prison ships, carrying its pathetic cargo to the Spice Mines, its slow passage elevating the torment of those who suffered on board.

The huge cargo hold was only one of four and, like the others, it contained those who had found themselves on the wrong side of the Empire's laws. There were a variety of criminals here: petty and hard, those who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, those who had simply said the wrong thing at the wrong time. There were many species represented: Wookiees, Utapauns, Mon Calamari, Yuzzem, Humans, and more, from a variety of planets. Many ages were also represented, as the Empire had neither regard for youth nor respect for the elderly. The wide expanse of the hold was in constant movement as the tightly packed bodies shifted and writhed, fighting to find a moments comfort. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and blood and other body secretions and waste. The hold was never quiet; cries, screams, pleas and death rattles blended together to create a hellish chorus of some demon song. Many prayed their journey would end; many more who knew better prayed for death before port was reached, and most envied those who had already passed on.

Among this living definition of rank despair sat Jeft Lantaff. His now painfully thin teenage body was hunched up into a ball, as though he was trying to escape this place by creating his own private protective cocoon. His filthy tattered clothes clung wetly to his skin, moist with the slick sweat from which every prisoner suffered. He held his head in his hands; his wrists, like his ankles, were shackled; his usually light red hair hung limp and dull. If one had been able to see his face, it would have appeared gaunt, drawn, streaked with the heavy tears of self pity which now spilled from his vacant hazel eyes.

"You and your big ideas." Jeft was amazed to hear his own voice, shocked that the accusation has actually passed his lips. These were the first words he had uttered since the ship had departed the Cusrean System, several weeks before. Beside him, he felt his friend stiffen in response to those words.

Adan Colston stopped picking at the dried blood on his hand and looked up in surprise at the sound of his friend's voice. "What?" he asked, his own voice hoarse and dry, despite the amount of liquid dampening his body.

"I said, 'you and your big ideas,'" Jeft repeated, mumbling his quiet anger. "Look at us, Adan." he gestured as widely as he could with bound hands, indicating the entire hold and bringing its live decadence into sharp focus for them both, as if the younger boy was not aware of their true situation. The chains hanging from his wrists clinked almost musically. "We should be in class just now, learning some useless chemical formula - not sitting inside a cesspool headed for Kessel."

"You didn't have to come," Adan retorted, irked that Jeft was laying all the blame on his shoulders. He shifted his buttocks, wincing as his stiff muscles protested the movement. "I never asked you to come."

"Oh, and you think those stormtroopers with guns and sticks would've let me stay behind 'cause you never asked me to come!" Jeft's voice rose with his impotent fury. He and his friend were having a long over due fight, one borne from fear, anger, confusion, and the inexperience of their youth.

Adan's grey eyes flashed with his own rising temper. "That's not what I meant, and you know it! I was talking about the demonstration. You said you wouldn't go and yet..."

"I went to stop you from being killed, to stop you from becoming a martyr for a rebellion which doesn't even know you exist!"

Adan fell silent at those sudden, angry words. It was true. When the shooting had started, Jeft had pulled him down to lie among the increasing numbers of dead and injured. They had escaped the shots, but had fallen into the hands of a defensive Empire, one which did not consider their youth, their wealthy fathers, or their good academic standing when passing sentence.

"It could be worse," Colston whispered, not knowing what else to say. He was beginning to believe it was all his fault.

Jeft laughed derisively, cruelly. "Worse? How?"

Adan shrugged, surprising himself with the lightness and humour he felt. "We could've been sentenced to ten years and not five."

Before Jeft could think of an appropriate retort to that insane statement, he was interrupted by the chuckles of an older prisoner beside them. He had taken no notice of the man until now, having been oblivious to everything but his own pain. Both youths turned at hearing the laughter. The man grinned toothlessly at the scared faces. "Boys," he crooned in obvious delight at their naiveté, "once you're on Kessel, you're on it forever. Five, ten, fifteen years all mean the same..." He leaned closer to them, blasting them with his stinking breath as he hissed his last word. "...life!" he giggled, and then broke into mad sobs as he realised the he, too, shared this fate.

The teenagers stared in terror at the wretched human, their unspoken fear now finalised. Jeft trembled, his rage reaching a sudden climax; he punched the floor with his fist, splashing both himself and Adan with filth.

"Jeft?" Adan began tentatively, scared by the man's laughter and his companion's reaction.

"Don't talk to me, Colston - not a word!" Jeft shouted. He was crying, frightened and furious. Again, he hugged his legs and wept, oblivious to the friend who sat beside him, doing the same.

ooOOoo

On the bridge of this death ship, conditions were vastly different. It may not have been as metallically clean nor as geometrically perfect as a new Imperial cruiser, but it possessed a certain character all its own. The bridge was tiny in comparison with the whole vessel, its outdated equipment fought vainly to blend in with the newer technology which had been used to patch and replace those items that had broken down with the passage of time. The men who manned this odd assortment of controls belonged to the dregs of the Empire; the men who could not or would not fit in with the strict military rule, but who possessed the correct traits which would enable them to survive the long arduous months onboard a prison ship. In a way, it was their punishment for not being of the exact material from which proper Imperial personnel could be forged. They were slack, unkempt, undiscipled and susceptible to temper bursts and fights at the least provocation.

All this streamed through the thoughts of their captain as he sat, brooding, above them. He slouched in his chair, head resting upon hand, watching his sullen company. Gil Trayner had recently been promoted to captain, and his high expectations of his first command had been wickedly dashed when he had been assigned to this duty; his mood during this journey had never been the best. His first trip out, his first Kessel shipment - and, he hoped, his last. Thus far, the passage had been boring, the men unpredictable, and the ship a mess. Trayner laughed silently to himself, sarcastically. It was nothing short of a miracle that this rust ridden boat hadn't yet fallen apart at the seams. But then, the Empire didn't consider safety important when it came to deviants, and Trayner knew that both he and his crew - not to mention their cargo - were expendable; which dragged his mood ever further into the muddy depths.

"Uh, sir?"

Trayner fought the urge to ignore the nervous, girlish voice of his First Mate. Its squeaky sound grated on his ears and set his teeth on edge. He glanced up into the young face, wincing almost visibly at the wide spread of acne covering the features. Although Kinley was tottering on the brink of his mid-twenties, his persistent skin affliction made him appear almost adolescent; he was, therefore, the constant butt of jokes among the crew. Tryner sat straighter. "What is it, Kinley?"

The First Mate's eyes flitted skittishly to the now muttering bridge staff. "The scanners...uh... have picked up what look like...eh...fighters."

"Fighter's?" Trayner scowled and pulled himself from his chair, puzzled. It was unthinkable that the ship was about to be attacked. Pirates generally gave prison ships plenty of room, unless word was out they were also carrying some valuable goods along with their living cargo. "TIEs?" he asked, concluding that he was being sent an escort for some reason.

"No...Sir," Kinley stuttered, seemingly frightened. "S…snubs. X- and Y-Wings."

Trayner brushed past his First Mate as he headed for the scanners. Quickly, he viewed the forward screen and counted at least fifteen tiny ships in their path. He switched to the aft view in time to see more ships converging and, behind them, two larger carriers. It was definitely an attack, but not by the pirates who usually haunted this part of space. Trayner could scarcely believe his own eyes as the rebel ships broke formation and dove toward his cruiser, spitting crippling laser bursts.

"Battle stations!" he yelled, knowing that his own out dated weapons would be totally useless against these swiftly darting attackers, and that boarding was inevitable. He lifted his blaster from its holster, knowing the ship was lost - but it wouldn't look good on his record if he didn't even try to resist.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Forgotten**

**Part 3**

Adan Colston winced as his probing fingers finally succeeded in lifting from his wrist a large crust of hardened blood and serum. Beneath the scab, the new flesh was pink and tender. He watched as fresh blood swelled in the wound and spilled lightly over his skin. He raised his hand to mouth and delicately licked off the fluid; as he did so, he remembered a scolding he'd received from his mother as a child. She had warned him about the little bugs in his mouth which could dirty a cut and make it worse; being a gullible five-year-old, Adan had taken her meaning literally and had spent numerous hours in front of the bathroom mirror, looking for any lurking creatures. Only the intervention of his older brother - who had explained to him about microscopic germs - had curtailed his budding obsession with monsters in his mouth.

A shudder ran through the ship. Adan paused, arm still at mouth, when he felt the tremors vibrate the floor beneath him. He lowered his hands, watching the others in the hold as they, too, questioned the unexpected movement. Slowly, gradually, like the blood seeping from his cut, he became aware that something subtle had changed, that something from the background was missing. He listened intently, trying to pinpoint that difference. The prisoners still mumbled to and among themselves; the ineffectual air conditioner still thrummed its steady beat; the engines…

Adan started; a cold chill washed over him as he fought to keep his panic under control. The engines had stopped! The noise to which they had all become accustomed was gone. Adan felt an uncanny quiet descend over his prison, despite the continuing noise. The ship had stopped. Had they arrived? Was this Kessel? He turned to Jeft, still concentrating on the absent sound. "Jeft," he whispered frantically. "Jeft, listen…"

But Lantaff ignored him, still maintaining the renewed wall of silence he had thrown around himself. It was then that Adan heard the new sounds: a muted clamour of shouts, gunfire, and cries of pain. They were sounds that Adan had heard before, ones that would haunt him for many years to come. He nudged his sullen friend. "Jeft, listen," he repeated – needlessly now, for everyone had now noticed the growing din of battle.

Suddenly, the door to the hold opened, revealing the retreating backs of their caretakers. The imperials stumbled into the cargo hold, tripping over bound bodies, slipping in the ever-present mess, hampered by conveniently out-stretched arms and legs. The Imps were panicked, withdrawing without form and without care for their comrades. They fired their weapons wildly, without precision; blaster bolts flew in all directions, causing the prinoners to dive to the decks to avoid a quick death. Shots ricocheted from the walls and felled those unlucky enough to be caught in the bursts path – and, ironically, in some cases felling those who had pulled the triggers.

More shots spat from the open door as the Imperials' pursuers entered, crouched low and firing their weapons without haste, methodically and accurately.

Reflexively, Jeft dodged a shot that rebounded his way. He lay flat, hands over his head, hoping the fight would soon end. He winced as a cry sounded from a prisoner near him and he was reminded of a young girl he had seen cut down during the demonstration.

"Drop your weapons!"

Jeft peeked out from under the protection of his own elbow as the shout echoed within the hold. He watched with relief as the remaining Imperials threw their weapons to the floor. Khaki-uniformed soldiers then cautiously advanced to surround them and herd the defeated Imperials from the room. As they passed, Jeft heard another prisoner mumble, "Rebels." Jeft sat upright at this information, staring as more Alliance members entered. He smiled tentatively as he noticed the white patches gracing several of their sleeves: medics. Perhaps their suffering was finally over.

He turned to Adan. "Colston, d'ya think…" He stopped. Adan was lying still, curled on the deck. "Adan?" His burning questioned was asked silently, a mere inflection in his voice, but one that thoroughly conveyed his underlying fear. His friend didn't move.

Jeft hesitated, scared of what he might discover if he turned the boy over. Anxiously, he glanced around for a nearby medic, but all seemed occupied with those injured closer to the door. He fought to stand up, to gain their attention, but his movements were hampered by his shackles. He fell, tears of fright swelling and spilling from his eyes. He turned back to Adan, pulling the younger boy into a near-sitting position and resting the dark head against his shoulder.

"It's sore, Jeft."

These three words, uttered quietly and tight with pain, brought relief and hope to Jeft's troubled young heart. There the feelings clouded together to create a thick sweetness that clogged the back of his throat. He spoke with difficulty. "It's gonna be okay, Adan. They have medics. It's okay."

"They… shot me!" Jeft wasn't sure if it was disbelief or panic he heard in the trembling voice.

"It's not bad, Adan, really." He struggled to reassure his friend as he glanced at the wound. He flinched visibly, unable to hide his reaction as he looked at the charred fabric that surrounded the angry red chest burn. "You'll be alright," he insisted, but Adan had seen the look on his face and had quietly begun to cry.

ooOOoo

A khaki-uniformed commander walked slowly through the holding area, stopping occasionally to help up a prisoner, to unlock painfully tight bonds, and to check those bodies that lay still. He stopped near the centre of the room, surveying the horror, shaking his head, marvelling that most of these poor wretches had survived for many months in these conditions. His searching eyes fell on two small figures huddled together in a far corner, seemingly oblivious to the activity surrounding them. He started forward, stopping only to check on a fallen Imperial; he moved on when he found the man was dead. As he approached the teenagers, his expression became on of concern when he saw that one of the two was injured.

He turned, searching for free medic. "Hey, Dakin!" he called to a medic who was rising to his feet, leaving his patient in the capable hands of the stretcher bearers. "Over here!" The commander crouched down to join the youths on the floor. "Help's coming," he told them softly, smiling to relieve their fear.

Jeft gratefully allowed Adan to be removed from his arms, but he stayed close, watching carefully as the medic worked and wincing every time his friend gasped. He didn't notice the commander removing his bonds nor did he hear him speak, such was his relief at seeing his friend in the medics care. This was what he was used to: adults taking the responsibility.

"Are you okay, kid?"

Jeft looked up into the concerned blue eyes that were watching him. "What?" he asked hazily.

"Are you all right?" The commander repeated, wary for any signs of shock.

Jeft nodded. "I'm, okay… sir." Unconsciously, he rubbed his scarred wrists, then looked back at Adan. "Is he…?"

Before the commander could reply, the medic cut in. "He'll be fine. The burn looks - and probably feels - worse than it is." He extracted a thin plastic sheet from his equipment case and with it he gently covered Adan's wound. "A few days in the medcentre and he'll be screaming to get out." The man grinned at his patient, who feebly smiled back.

"Would never have been hit if Jeft hadn't ducked,' Adan mumbled as the medic closed the final seal on his dressing. This unexpected statement drew laughter from the two Rebels.

Jeft, more accustomed to Adan's habit of cracking insane quips in humourless situations, retorted with, "You would never have been hit if you hadn't hid behind me." More laughter followed, accompanied by vague smiles from the two youths, who had begun to relax a little, finally realising their torment was over.

The commander shook his head, amazed how these children could still joke, inspite of what they had endured. "What brought you two here?" he asked, his interest sparked.

Jeft gestured to Adan. "A big mouth." Before Adan could protest, he continued. "He thought it would be a good idea to join an anti-Imperial demonstration." He didn't notice the shocked looks that passed between the two men. "But we got caught."

"You took part in the Cusrean Demonstration?" The commander couldn't hide his surprise when they boys nodded in unison. "I don't know whether to call you heroes or lunatics." He smiled at the puzzlement on their faces as they fought to figure out whether or not they should say 'thank you'; then, abruptly his face fell. A mixture of passive anger and sorrow coloured his eyes. He spoke hesitantly, unsure of his words, speaking the way one does when breaking hurtful news. "That demonstration was a set up." The boys' eyes narrowed, not completely understanding. "It was organised by the Empire itself."

Silence fell over the small group; the commander's words hung in the air, waiting to be absorbed by the listeners. Adan was the first with a question, his voice tinged with pain and confusion. "I don't understand, sir."

The officer shifted uncomfortably, knowing any explanation would seem cruel. "They set you up. They _wanted_ you to demonstrate."

"Why?" Although Jeft hadn't been the most willing of participants, he still felt a s sense of crawling horror at this news. Though the demonstration hadn't been a success, he had secretly hoped that some good may have come from it to give meaning to the slaughter, to their suffering – and now, this hope had been crushed. "Why would they do that? All those people…" he left the sentence unfinished.

"It was intended to root out all the local dissidents, when they then massacred as an example to the masses, to reinforce the Empire's control in that system." He exchanged a glance with the medic, one of sadness and impotency, then he answered the silent question he could feel burning within the youths. "Our sources on Cusrean found out – too late. By the time we knew it was a set-up, there wasn't anything we could do to stop it." His voice was heavy with apology. "And, we don't… didn't have enough resources to physically intervene to stop the killing."

"There we go!" The medic's deliberately cheerful voice broke the pall of anger and sorrow that was threatening to smother the boys. He had completed his patch-up job, and was now lifting a small syrette of painkiller. "This should keep the pain at bay until you get to the aid station."

"Thanks," Adan whispered his gratitude while trying to comprehend how he and Jeft and thousands of others could have been so easily suckered by the Empire. Could the galaxy's government be so devious, so crooked – so desperate?

The medic collected his instruments. "I'll send over a stretcher team, she said, lifting his case. "And I'll see both of you in the medcentre." He then ran off in response to another shout for help.

The rebel commander gazed at the two boys in turn, assessing what he could of their strengths and abilities. They were young, angry at the way they had been tricked and mistreated. They were inwardly strong, though their physical strength would need to be repaired and they had already publicly denounced the Empire – something he himself had never done. They could not go home, but perhaps they could find themselves a new one as he had.

"How old are you?" he asked, the question seeming out of context.

Jeft and Adan swapped suspicious glances, understanding was the rebel was asking, and why. "Nineteen," Adan said immediately.

"Seventeen," Jeft corrected with a wilting look for his friend.

"Seventeen," Adan amended. "Almost."

The officer smiled. It was obvious which of the two was more enthusiastic over the prospect of becoming a part of the rebellion.

"What if we don't want to join up?" Jeft had to ask, to Adan's irritation.

He was answered with the truth. "You're under no obligation, of course. We'll take you to one of the rim worlds, to one of the refugee camps and from there you'd be on your own. But you couldn't contact your home, or your families. You'd be picked up again - along with your family and you would all be executed. You are after all escaped traitors."

Jeft weighed up the blunt words. "We won't be any safer with you, though, will we?"

The commander smiled. "No. This _is_ a war, and we are a military organization. You'd be contributing to the fight against the Empire, and your families back home may be better off unless you are discovered among us." His eyes flicked briefly to the floor, and for a moment a heavy sadness seemed to fill him and Jeft knew that the officer himself and lost everything. "There are no guarantees of anything, I'm afraid."

Adan's stretcher arrived. The commander helped Jeft to his feet as his injured friend was lifted onto the gurney; another soldier's arms reached for Jeft and supported him. It was then Jeft noticed the weapon hanging from the officer's belt, a weapon he had only ever seen in his history classes. His eyes met the rebel's once more, this time with recognition. "We can win," he said.

Luke Skywalker smiled and nodded, "We have a chance." His only reply was a silent nod. He watched the youths and their escorts leave the hold. Two seventeen-year-olds, one on his back, the other in need of steadying help. He regretted their loss of innocence at an age when naiveté should be the bouncing board for their emotions, and he thought of his own youth, his own seventeenth year. He remembered the yearning that had possessed him whenever he imagined the excitement of space battles, the burning desire to leave the drudgery of the farm and now, four years later, he sometimes wished to be back home on Tatooine with his friends and his family.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Forgotten**

**4**

They were on yet another ship. Their fifth since their release from the Kessel barge – and still they did not know their destination. These rebels were as evasive and secretive as the Imperials were forthright and obvious. Jeft pulled open the zipper of his huge padded jacket. He didn't know where he was going, but if the clothes they had been issued with were any indication, he had the feeling it was going to be cold, very cold. He glanced at Adan and suppressed a grin. The younger boy looked lost in his own quilted clothes as he sat slumped in his chair, fighting to sleep. Adan was still scrawny-thin, but he was gradually gained some weight as he returned to full fitness under the watchful gaze of the Rebellion's medical officers and both of them had gained muscle tone from the training they had undertaking at one of the hidden boot camps.

Jeft looked around the shuttle at the other new recruits. Their faces were masks of excitement, apprehension and fear. He knew his feelings mirrored theirs. They were now infantry, ground troopers, uniformed and numbered, being sent into a war of desperation.

Suddenly, the shuttle lurched downward, violently. Jeft tightly clutched the arms of his seat as the ship bounced in the turbulent atmosphere of some unknown planet. He smiled at a now wide-awake Adan and tried to reassure his friend of their safety, even though he knew their skin shared the same pasty green hue. Gradually, the movement eased, and they at last felt the shuttle touch the ground, tentatively, as though the landing pads were unsure of the surface. A low murmur broke over the soldiers.

Jeft re-zipped his jacket, reached for the Alliance-issued kit bag, and withdrew a tight fitting insulated cap. He looked to Adan, who seemed to be having trouble moving in the thick layers and he laughed as a sudden thought struck him.

Adan glanced up at him, smiling in puzzlement. "What?"

"You looked like Flesh Features in those things."

Adan giggled lightly at the mention of their former math teacher, a portly old gentleman with a passion for the sweet things in life. "Then you're his brother," he gleefully retorted.

Before Jeft could respond with another quip, the hatch seal broke and a gust of chilling air blew into the passenger compartment. Adan gasped in a lungful. "Where are we?" he asked, surprised.

"Hoth."

The single word that caught everyone's attention had been uttered by the lieutenant who had accompanied them as he stepped in from the cockpit. He, too, was dressed in cold-weather gear, his officer's bars contrasting sharply with the white of his uniform. He was young and handsome, but at that moment his face was drawn, thin, and the shadows of sleeplessness coloured the skin beneath his eyes. Jeft wondered how long he had been with the Alliance.

The officer smiled at the wide eyes that turned to survey the vast ice whiteness that was gradually revealed as the hatch opening widened. He watched in amusement as several jaws dropped, mimicking his own first reaction to Hoth. "Okay!" he called out, breaking the spell that had transfixed the recruits. "Get your gear together and stick close to me – we don't want anyone lost. The sooner we get you all a place in a squad and cot to bunk in, the sooner we all get a hot meal."

Adan leaned close to Jeft. "Hot? In this place? Is he kidding?"

"Maybe he's got a weird sense of humour, like you," Jeft suggested as he slung the kit bag over his shoulder and fell in behind the rest.

Stepping from the shuttle, they found themselves within a huge, cavernous ice hanger. Jeft whistled loudly clearly impressed by the massive cave and the activity going on within its walls. There were many types of ships; X-Wings, Y-Wings, speeders, cargo barges and shuttles, most of which had technicians and droids working on and around them. Pilots and soldiers ran across the ice-packed floor to destinations Jeft could only guess at. The noise was deafening. Men shouted, engines roared and animals bellowed. Jeft pointed to a makeshift pen in which several lizard-like creatures were being held. "What are those?"

"Tauntauns." The Lieutenant answered as he strode past.

Jeft glanced at Adan who shrugged; he'd never heard of them either. But the younger boy had spotted another object of interest: an old, battered freighter. He grinned widely as its shape became more defined as they approached it. He had heard that the Alliance used ancient ships and took on almost everything they could scrounge, but he hadn't realised until now that they were this desperate. This ship was a joke. It was almost saucer-round; its hull was an amalgamation of cannibalised heat-shielding plating and was heavily scored with carbon streaks, the result of many battles. Its lifters looked ready to collapse and, at that moment, its hatch was stuck half open. Adan watched with humour as several Rebels and a large Wookiee, strained to open to the door to release whoever was trapped inside. Despite being muffled by the hatch, the curses from within easily reached the boys' ears.

"I said stick close, Colston."

The Lieutenant's voice rapidly wiped the smile from his lips; Adan turned to find the rest of the recruits several yards ahead of him. He ran to catch up. "Sorry, sir, I…." He started, but the officer had already turned and was walking on. Glancing back for a last look at the freighter, Adan slipped into place behind Jeft.

The small procession passed into an adjoining corridor. The passageway, like the hanger, had been cut from the ice of this planet. Several plastic pipes passed along the ceiling, steam rising from their surfaces like thin wisps of smoke. Adan guessed they must be part of the Rebel's heating system. The procession skirted a small pile of fallen ice and finally entered a room marked 'debriefing.' There they joined more recruits who stood in small groups muttering nervously among themselves.

"What do you think's gonna happen?" Adan whispered to Jeft as they watched their lieutenant talk to the other officers.

"Put us in squads," Jeft answered. "Like he said."

"Do you think they'll split us up?" Adan sounded concerned. He wanted to be involved with the Alliance, but he didn't relish being along among strangers.

"I don't know," Jeft's voice didn't carry much hope. He had gotten involved in this for Adan's sake and now he was facing the prospect of being separated from his friend. "But we'll find out soon enough."

"Can I have you attention, please?" The shout was more of an order than a request and was met with instant silence. All eyes turned to the Colonel who had spoken. "On behalf of the Alliance Council I'd like to thank you for your support in our cause against the Empire. These are not easy times, but the Force willing we will prevail…."

"The Force?" Adan whispered." What's the Force…?"

"Shhhhh," Jeft warned.

"…When your name is called come forward for your assignment."

The first name was called and a tall, eager man pushed forward. Then the next, and the next…

"Colston, Adan."

Adan started at the mention of his name. His heart pushed into his throat and for some reason he was suddenly scared.

Jeft nudged him forward. "Wait for me outside."

Adan nodded absently and stepped to the front of the room. He found himself standing before a small table covered with data pads. The man behind the desk glanced up from the pad he was holding and smiled reassuringly. "You're Colston?"

"Yes, sir."

The officer glanced at his readout. "You took part in the Cusrean Demonstration?'

"Yes, sir."

"Is that your home system?"

Adan frowned at the questions, the others hadn't seemed to be asked as many. "Yes, sir. It's my home planet."

The officer tapped lightly on the keys of the pad and consulted the read-out again. He nodded in satisfaction. "You're in G Company, Sixth Squad. Bunk Room twelve. Report to the Sergeant. Welcome to the Alliance, Private."

Adan's stomach twisted. "Uh, thank you, sir." He turned from the table as the next name was called and headed for the door, glancing at Jeft before entering the corridor. Outside, he leaned against the rough wall, kicking the loose ice on the floor while he waited for Jeft to appear. He was now a Rebel, a traitor to his government, a soldier. Two months ago he had been schoolboy, one month ago a prisoner headed for Kessel - and now, he was a soldier. He shivered as he remembered the many battle-games he used to play with his friends when he was ten…

_"Phoew! I got you, Adan! You're dead!"_

…and now it was for read!

"Are you sleeping or just daydreaming?"

Adan opened his eyes - which he hadn't realised he'd closed - and looked into Jeft's inquiring gaze. "Just thinking."

"Must've been boring thoughts." Jeft's light-hearted comment was tinged with concern and his smile was forces. "Are you all right?"

The younger boy nodded. "I'm fine. Maybe a little tired, though." _And scared,_ he added to himself.

Jeft nodded, feeling the same, but he was determined not to let the weariness annoy him, for now. "Well, where were you assigned?"

"G Company, Sixth Squad."

Jeft's face filled with surprise; then he laughed and grinned. "Me, too." He was sure the expression on his friend's face was one of relief. "Why d'you think they put us together?"

Adan shrugged with the nonchalance of youth as they started down the corridor. "Who cares? Maybe they figure people work better when they're with friends."

"Friend?" Jeft repeated with humour. "I wouldn't call you a 'friend' after all you've gotten me into."

"I was speaking metaphorically, Private," Adan retorted, pretending to take exception to Jeft's comment.

"You don't know what that word means," Lantaff countered, laughing.

"I do!" Adan drew himself to his full height, which was still several inches shorter than his friend. "I'll have you know I got an 'A' in languages."

"Only because you copied me."

"I did not!"

And so their innocent bickering continued, a conversation more likely to be heard in a schoolyard than in the corridors of a rebel base, and more likely to be heard coming from children than soldiers. Their naivete pushed memories of past events from their minds and shielded them from thoughts of the future, thoughts of war. It was a naivete that many on the base would have envied.


End file.
